


Catch

by wynnebat



Category: Leverage
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 03:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6499387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot carries their first words. Damien will hold onto their last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch

**Author's Note:**

> Vague references to violence, minor character death/murder.
> 
> Written for a [prompt](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/694199.html?thread=91405751#t91405751) by tigriswolf over on comment-fic.

Eliot's out of bullets, out of unbruised knuckles, and out of patience when he finally reaches the center of the building. His target's sitting pretty as you please in an armchair next to the fireplace, three bodies on the ground next to him.

"Are you my ride?" the man asks, his gun resting lightly on his thigh, an inch from his right hand.

Three days of searching, two of tracking down a mansion that's not on any map, and a target who could've made it easier. Eliot's never doing a favor for Chapman again.

"Yeah, Chapman sent me." He walks a couple paces and Moreau stands to meet him, leaving the gun on the chair. Eliot thinks if it comes down to a fight, he could take him. He'd rather get a thanks and payment, but he's never one to hope instead of plan. He holds out his hand. "Eliot Spencer."

 _You're too handsome for this shit,_ Eliot thinks, looking the man over. Movie star good looks reminiscent of James Dean's on a man whose name's cursed more than the devil's in some places.

And then he doesn't think at all, because there's words snaking around his wrist in a nearly illegible writing: _Are you my ride?_ He's seen worse on people's wrists; at least it's not a pick-up line.

Moreau takes his hand, pulls him in, and curls his lips into something like a smile. "Damien Moreau. It's going to be a pleasure working with you."

"We'll see," Eliot says, and the words don't appear on Moreau's wrist.

Looks like he's going to be sticking around after all.

.

They make it out alive. Damien makes it easy to stay, easy to fill the role of the newly deceased mole who'd gotten Damien kidnapped. He's easy to be consumed by, despite the violence he carries like a cloak. It's a good thing Damien's met him at twenty-six instead of sixteen, Eliot thinks. The world's broken him in enough that Damien doesn't have to.

Six months later, Eliot shoots a family point blank and Damien brings him breakfast the next morning, the grapes as sweet as candy.

He's not good enough to leave, Eliot thinks. He's Damien Moreau's soulmate; there's so little good in him anyway.

.

It's years until something breaks, and Eliot says, "I'm leaving," and waits with his breath caught between his heart and his soul. When the words don't appear on Damien's wrist, he's so relieved that he kisses him, and fucks him, and wonders again if it's really so bad, to be in love with his soulmate. To be his right-hand man.

"I suppose this is goodbye," Damien says as the sun begins to rise.

Eliot shakes his head. "We're in a war zone. I'm getting you back to the base first."

"You think I'll let you go?" Damian asks. And in the morning light, just after waking, there's flickers of softness in his eyes that people who aren't Eliot never see. If it were only this, if they could spend a lifetime between these sheets, Eliot would stay without a second thought.

"I know you will," Eliot says, and he knows his soulmate well enough to know they're both relieved when in a few days, Damien's wrist still stays blank.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Complete; no sequel planned.


End file.
